


What Are You Waiting For?

by red_crate



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 07:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10509537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: no one ever talks about what happens after the one-night stand.This one was inspired by Fall Out Boy's "A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More Touch Me."Posted from livejournal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Posted as written in 2008.

The list of Things Patrick Knows was missing; he was pretty sure it flew out the window while driving home from a Super 8 motel at four in the morning.  
  
  
  
[you’ll never live this down]  
  
  
Patrick’s fingers traced the buttons on his phone, occupying and distracting. He was sitting on his bed and trying to come up with a reason, any good excuse, not to go. In the corner of the room, a plastic bag hung in the closet, rented and unwanted.  
  
  
  
  
[write me off]  
  
  
  
It wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a one-night stand. Patrick stood beneath the shower head, water running hot, and replayed the scene in his head. Half-formed plans and a long drive were how it started. No, that wasn’t really how it had started. It had started on a hot July night a year ago when he first saw Arma Angelus play in the forefront of Independence fireworks. Scrubbing at the hickey on his hip, Patrick felt dirty and used up-skin raw and sensitive. Something in the way Pete had looked at him when they parted ways made him want to hope and forget at the same time. It was supposed to be nothing but a one-night stand.  
  
  
  
  
Two nights later, Patrick was pulled from his dreams by an annoying vibration coming from his desk; the phone danced to the edge before falling off. It was one in the morning and Patrick seriously considered ignoring the call, until he remembered pushing buttons and kissing in the darkness. His mouth barely worked and his voice was rough with sleep. “Hello?”  
  
“You’re sleeping?” The voice was accusing. Patrick didn’t recognize the number, but he knew the voice. “I’ll just be hanging up then…”  
  
“No-don’t. I was…yeah. Sleeping. Why aren’t you asleep?” Turning onto his side, he cradled the phone, wide awake.  
  
“Insomnia.” Pete made it sound so obvious. “If this is a bad time, then-“  
  
“No, I said, it’s cool. I just…you called.” Patrick stopped there and hoped he didn’t sound as surprised as he felt.  
  
“Yeah. I kinda can’t get you out of my head. I wanted to know-I was just curious about how you were doing.”  
  
“At one in the morning? Or in general?” He caught himself grinning as butterflies started up.  
  
Making a little sound as if he was in a hurry to say something, Pete asked, “You ever wonder how it’s determined whether or not you’re a bad person? I mean, what’s the real difference between a good person and a bad person?”  
  
Patrick furrowed his brow and blinked a few times. “I guess the difference is a bad person does something because he can, no matter the consequences, and a good person weighs the consequences and the effects it has on others before he does something.”  
  
“I’m probably a bad person then.” Pete’s voice sounded dejected. “I don’t mean to do the things I do, but I do them anyway.”  
  
“What, exactly, are you talking about?” Patrick was starting to get the impression that this talk of being a bad person just might have something to do with what happened between them.  
  
Pete ignored his question, asking his own, “Are you okay?” Patrick cringed at the way Pete sounded so earnest.  
  
“If this is about the other night, and you’re just checking to make sure you didn’t break my heart or whatever…just know I went into it knowing what to expect.” Embarrassment and anger weaved together inside Patrick.  
  
“You expected a fuck and a farewell. Right?” Pete’s voice grew a little louder. “Yeah, that’s what they all want. Fuck you.”  
  
“You’re getting pissed at me? I didn’t force you to have sex with me!” Patrick dropped his voice to a high whisper as he eyed the door to his room.  
  
“If you only knew how you looked-wait, what’s wrong with your voice? Why are you whispering?”  
  
“None of your damn business, and what do you mean how I looked?” His skin felt hot and he wanted to hang up the phone.  
  
“It doesn’t matter. This was a mistake.” The line went silent and when Patrick looked at his phone, the call ended.  
  
  
  
  
Teenaged stubbornness kept Patrick from clearing out his received calls list; it also kept him from hitting ‘send’ every time he looked at the ten digit number.  
  
  
  
  
It was barely a week later before he had another call from Pete-or well, Pete’s phone. The middle of A.P. US History wasn’t exactly the best place to have a cell phone go off, especially when the ring tone was the theme song to James Bond. Kids laughed and the teacher gave a warning look as Patrick quickly silenced the phone, face burning. After class he checked his voicemail.  
  
“Shit, I got voicemail.” Giggle. Something muffled in the background. “Whoa! You can’t catch-“ Loud noise. Laughter. “I hope he’s worth it. Yeah, okay…CALL BACK!” An automated female voice told Patrick that was the end of his messages. He looked at the missed call list again just to make sure it was from Pete’s phone because that definitely was not Pete.  
  
During lunch, Patrick went outside and sat on one of the concrete benches, despite the snow on the ground. “Did, um…I think someone called me on your phone by accident.” His legs jiggled as he hunched in on himself, speaking to Pete’s voicemail. They sky was grey and the bare trees in the horizon looked like skeletal fingers reaching up for a savior. He paused and tried to think of something else to say that didn’t sound so lame. “So…you might want to check that out.” He hung up before he could say anything else.  
  
Sticking his phone back in his jacket pocket, fingers warming in the plush of the fabric, Patrick stared at his feet, old black Converse Chucks dirty and scuffed. He’d worn them on that night with Pete. Wiggling his toes, Patrick let his eyes fall shut, reliving the way Pete’s breath had come out in puffs against his ear when he’d been inside him, moaning. Patrick’s skin rose in goose bumps from the cold and the memory. Pete had told him that wasn’t the way Patrick’s first time was supposed to be, but Patrick didn’t think it could have been much better in any other circumstance, with anyone else. His cheeks colored and his eyes popped open when he realized he was getting aroused.  
  
Calling again and getting Pete’s voicemail again, Patrick spoke in a low tone. “I wouldn’t have changed anything. I don’t care what you say.”  
  
  
  
  
“Maybe we should start over from the beginning.” Pete suggested later that night. Patrick was sitting at his computer, watching the curser on his Word document blink at him. He was supposed to be writing an essay on Emily Dickinson.  
  
“Mm, I guess.” Patrick typed his name, the date, and ‘English Honors III’ at the top of the document. Only fifteen hundred more words left to write.  
  
Pete sighed and there was a rustling on his end. “Brendon is a jackass. I hope you weren’t in class or something.”  
  
Patrick flipped through his notes and shrugged. “I was in A-uh…anatomy and physiology.” He held his breath, hoping Pete didn’t catch his almost-slip-up. Pete thought he was nineteen. And as a nineteen year-old, Patrick should be in his sophomore year of college, not eleventh grade.  
  
Pete ‘hmm’-ed before changing the subject. “I wasn’t being condescending earlier. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t hate me.”  
  
“Why would I hate you?” Patrick was the one who should feel guilty, even if Pete didn’t actually know it.  
  
“Dude, I like, took advantage of your innocence.” Pete sounded like he was explaining something to a child.  
  
Patrick huffed. “I’m not some fifteen year-old girl. I told you this already. I knew what I wanted and you gave it to me. So, ya know…thanks…in a way. I don’t want to keep dwelling on this stuff, okay? What happened, happened and I don’t regret it, do you?”  
  
The pause Pete made before answering had Patrick’s heart in his throat. “No. I mean, I just…I don’t know…”  
  
Before Pete had a chance to dig anymore into Patrick’s self-confidence Patrick cut him off. “Why did you even call me? If you feel like you need to apologize and ask to forget about what must have been a terrible experience with me then why the fuck are you still talking to me? Do you like making feel like shit? Because I don’t fucking need you making me feel any worse than I do on a day-to-day basis, okay Pete-from-fucking-Arma-Angelus?” Patrick’s chest heaved a little with emotion and adrenaline. It had felt good to have his little outburst.  
  
“That’s not even what I mean, Patrick. And if you’d listen for one goddamned minute, I could explain what I’m saying!”  
  
“Okay, fine. Go ahead. Talk.” Patrick got up and slammed his door just for effect. He was glad his parents weren’t home from work yet.  
  
“I just feel like something was off that night. Like I somehow got you to keep going even though you were nervous. I just…feel guilty. You’re different than the others; I don’t know how, but you are.” Pete’s voice sounded small next to the anger he’d just expressed.  
  
“Oh.” Was all Patrick could think to say. He stayed quiet, holding his breath.  
  
  
  
  
[the boy who took too many chances]  
  
And that was how Pete and Patrick’s phone relationship was, prickly and angry yet somehow intimate and special. Patrick took to calling Pete during lunch because Pete had a habit of staying up all night and sleeping through his classes. Pete started texting him in bad grammar and at odd moments, when Patrick was in the bathroom or shelving books at work. On more than one occasion, Patrick found himself driving past DePaul University and wondering what it would be like to call Pete and ask if he could come up.  
  
  
  
  
  
[make all the moves]  
  
“Are you coming home for Christmas?” Pete’s voice was even but Patrick’s stomach was twisting in knots. After having already told so many lies, one day Patrick decided to tell a skewed truth; he told Pete his parents lived in Chicago, but he lived in Milwaukee where he went to school.  
  
“Um…I hadn’t really thought about it. I uh usually just stay here…” Patrick was at a stop light on his way home from Borders. A car honked behind him when he didn’t accelerate when the light turned green. He ducked his head and pressed the gas pedal. “Why?” He had a pretty good idea where this conversation was going and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.  
  
The music in Pete’s background lowered as he either stepped out of the room or turned down the volume. “I was thinking maybe if you came home, we could hang out again. You know, I’ve got that Christmas Charity Ball thing for Phi Beta Rho and everything…”  
  
Patrick made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah…” He trailed off, not sure what to say next.  
  
“So do you think you’d maybe want to go to the Ball? It’ll be fun?” Patrick was pretty sure that last part wasn’t supposed to come out as a question.  
  
He balked at the idea. “I don’t know man. A Ball? I don’t do dress-up and I can’t dance…and…I-“  
  
“No, it’s cool. I get it. You don’t want to go. I’m not going to put a gun to your head or anything.” The way Pete sounded hurt made Patrick want to take his words back. Over the past couple of weeks, Patrick had found himself living for these conversations with Pete; they were the only thing that kept him anchored on some days.  
  
“I guess I could see about it. I’ve got a lot of stuff to do that week, but ya know…maybe.” Patrick parked in the garage and shut the engine off but stayed in his seat. He chewed on his bottom lip and closed his eyes as he said, “I could try…”  
  
“Really? Oh man, it’ll be great! I can’t wait for you to meet these guys. I’ve talked all their heads off about you so I’m pretty sure they want to meet you too, if only to make sure I didn’t make you up. You swear you’ll try? Like, seriously?” Patrick could practically see Pete bouncing.  
  
“Yeah, I swear.” Patrick blushed at Pete’s excitement.  
  
  
  
  
[like you’re still around]  
  
  
Plans were made, tuxes were rented, and explanations told to confused parents. Patrick was going with a girl from school to her brother’s wedding. Patrick’s mom’s eyes shined and she grinned as she told him not to fall in love too quickly. Patrick told Pete he would come, but he’d have to meet him at the hotel where the Ball was being held because he was supposed to help his parents clean the house for the annual Stump Christmas party, at which Pete laughed hysterically for close to five minutes.  
  
The day of the Ball, Pete called no less than six times to remind Patrick what time he absolutely had to be at the hotel, that, serious to God, he was going to wear a powder blue suit, and to promise Patrick a night he’d never forget.  
  
So when Patrick found himself staring at the black tuxedo hanging in his closet, Patrick wanted to throw up. He stripped his shirt off and undid his belt. With his zipper half way down, Patrick lost steam and picked his cell phone off the bedside table, sighing. There was no way he could do this. He couldn’t walk into that banquet hall and take Pete’s arm as his guest, not in front of all those eyes. He couldn’t keep up with all the lies he was telling now; Patrick had a feeling everything would unravel from his tongue the minute he saw Pete again. He’d tell him the truth and Pete would hate him for it.  
  
His fingers played with the buttons on his phone, trying to come up with an excuse not to show up. The screen lit up with a text.  
  
u on ur way yet  
  
Patrick turned his phone off and pulled the covers over his head, shutting his eyes. When his mom knocked on his door two hours later, asking if he was ready for the wedding, he coughed and told her his friend had the flu so he wasn’t going. She left him alone and he went to sleep where he dreamed about powder blue kisses and swirling music.  
  
  
  
[keep me honest]  
  
  
The next day when Patrick finally worked up enough courage to turn his cell phone back on, he had twelve missed calls, nine which were from Pete, three of which were from a number he didn’t recognize. The voicemails were mostly the same, all “where are you, Trick?” and “if you’re ditching me, then just fucking tell me.”  
  
The other three might have been from the same guy who called him during A.P. US History all those weeks ago. “I hope your phone’s just dead and you got lost on the way here..”  
  
“It’s nine o’clock and you aren’t here yet. You probably know this. Call him.”  
  
“I don’t know what your problem is but I think you just fucked up pretty badly.”  
  
Patrick spent the next four hours trudging between his bedroom and the kitchen where his mom had left waffles and syrup for him. He chewed and thought, thought and chewed. Nothing he could come up with sounded like anything other than a pathetic excuse, but maybe Pete deserved at least that. After two helpings of the sticky, sweet food, Patrick manned up and grabbed his jacket and car keys.  
  
He’d already Googled the Phi Beta Rho house a while back- the day after Pete told him he was the fraternity president. Having already stalked the campus of DePaul University enough to know where E Monroe Street was, he easily found Pete’s residence. Phi Beta Rho was a two-story house decorated with too many blinking colored Christmas lights and a scary looking wreath on the front door. Sun broke through the clouds for a brief second as Patrick walked up the front steps and debated on knocking. In the corner of the porch was a swing where someone had left a blanket and an empty coffee mug. Patrick turned back to the door and studied the wreath; it had bits of dead leaf in it, strewn amongst the too big glass ornaments that probably jangled when the door opened and shut. With his breath held, Patrick knocked.  
  
A lanky guy with a silk scarf tucked into his button-down shirt answered. He was attractive in a girly way but his voice and stance was all man. “Yeah?”  
  
Suddenly, Patrick felt very small and barely seventeen. “Um…is…can I talk to Pete?” He almost added a “please” when the man’s face darkened.  
  
“Pete’s indisposed at the moment.” He started to shut the door in Patrick’s face but another guy bounded up, pulling the door back open. He looked a little less frightening wearing a big smile and a red knitted sweater.  
  
“Whoa, Ryan. Let the man in! Where’s the holiday cheer?” The guy in the sweater waved Patrick in; he had to literally move around Ryan to get into the foyer where more twinkling lights bombarded Patrick’s sight. “I’m Brendon. What’s your name?”  
  
“Um…Patrick.” Brendon’s smile froze for a half second and Patrick felt like melting into the floor because Ryan was still sulking in the corner, silently refusing to move from the entrance to the common room while Brendon cocked his head to the side and made an “oh” kind of sound. “Can I…is Pete here? I need to talk to him?” He hunched his shoulders without noticing it and glanced at the staircase that most likely led to the bedrooms.  
  
Brendon recovered and grabbed Patrick’s wrist, leading him into the common room after giving Ryan a significant look at Patrick couldn’t quite read. “Let’s hang down here for a while. I was just watching a movie.” Another guy was sitting in one of the plush looking recliners, headphones on and tapping at a laptop. “That’s Andy. We don’t mess with Andy.” Brendon plopped down on the couch, taking up more room than Patrick would think is necessary; after hitting the ‘play’ button on the remote, the movie resumed. “I love this movie” Brendon commented wistfully.  
  
It was “The Little Mermaid.” Patrick gave a smile as he took in the spacious, lived-in common room. There were half empty glasses mixed with mismatched candles setting on any flat surface available. Below the flat-screen TV, a fire was going in front of the old crates the housemates used as a coffee table. Andy was staring at him with piercing eyes beneath a mess of long brown hair. When Patrick caught his stare, Andy didn’t look away but seemed to be trying to read his intentions.  
  
“So you guys are all really good friends, huh?” Patrick wiped his palms on his thighs and watched as Ariel and the Eric sat in a rowing boat beneath a weeping willow while Sebastian and his friends told the Eric to ‘kiss the girl.’ Patrick remembered this movie from childhood and how he used to be scared some evil monster was going to steal his voice away in the night.  
  
“Yeah. We kind of have to be when we’re in a frat like this.” Brendon said off-handedly; he was leaning forward, hands between his crossed legs like a little kid. He looked at Patrick sideways, “We’re like family.” Patrick nodded his head and fell silent as Ryan entered the room and sat down next to Brendon, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Brendon snuggled close to the taller man and Patrick looked away.  
  
“Pete will be down in a minute.” Ryan said as he stared at the flames.  
  
Patrick nodded but didn’t say anything. He was shaking a little from nerves. Heart beating faster than normal, he bit his lip when Pete sat down across from Andy, next to Patrick. “Hey, you didn’t die in a car crash.” Patrick couldn’t quite tell if Pete was disappointed or just being ironic. Pete was wearing a pair of Star Wars pajama bottoms and a discolored Red Cross shirt. His eyes were sunken like he hadn’t slept much the previous night.  
  
“No, not yet…” Patrick looked at Brendon and Ryan who both quickly turned their heads back to the TV. Andy got up and left the room. “Do you mind if we go somewhere to talk?”  
  
Pete stood as he mumbled, “So now you want to talk…” Patrick watched his feet as he followed Pete upstairs and into a small bedroom which was mostly filled with a king-sized bed; other than that, the only other piece of furniture was a dilapidated looking TV stand that held up a sixteen-inch TV. Photos, newspaper cutouts, and concert fliers were taped to the green walls above the bed. Pete sat down and grabbed a pillow to hug to his chest. “What’s up? Wanna talk about why you jilted me last night?”  
  
Patrick didn’t feel like he had a right to sit next to Pete so he pressed his back against the door jam and crossed his arms. “I don’t know where to start…”  
  
Falling onto his back, Pete let out a sigh, still hugging the pillow. “Just spit it out. I’m tired of angsting over you. You’re fucking up my head and I just want it to be quiet in here for once.”  
  
“I’m seventeen.” Patrick waited for Pete to start yelling but when the older man didn’t, Patrick cleared his throat. “I lied when I said I was nineteen. I just…there was no way you would have-if you’d known…” Patrick watched as Pete still lay on the bed, not moving. He looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath before continuing. “I lied…a lot, actually.” Pete shifted, his shirt riding up a little, revealing an inked lower stomach. “I’m a junior at Wilmette High. I’ve only been to Milwaukee once and you were there.”  
  
“Liar, liar, pants of fire.” Pete whispered and reached up to scrub his face with his hands, keeping them there, over his eyes. Speaking into his palms, he asked, “So everything was a lie?”  
  
“No. I mean, well, yes but-“ Patrick threw his hands out, at a loss for words. He started to get upset. “A lot of the facts were lies, but…ugh.” He crossed his arms and huffed, wishing Pete could just read his mind so he wouldn’t have to fight the words.  
  
Pete’s arms fell out to his side, like a kid making an angle in the snow. “Why didn’t you come last night?”  
  
Stepping closer, Patrick whispered, “I was scared. I…I was scared I would tell you the truth and you’d reject me in front of everyone.” He lowered his eyes back to the ground because he knew he sounded childish.  
  
“You’re such a teenager. All you care about is what the other kids think about you.” Pete sounded disgusted, hurt.  
  
“That’s not-that’s not all I care about!” Patrick’s voice was quietly angry. “I didn’t want to lose you…”  
  
Pete finally looked at him, head pushed to the side so he could make eye contact. “You should have thought about that before you lied.” His eyes went back to the ceiling, silent.  
  
“Fuck you!” Patrick kicked Pete’s mattress. “I didn’t know this was going to turn out the way it did! If I’d actually told you I was seventeen, do you really think any of this would have happened?” He turned to leave.  
  
“I don’t fucking care how old you are, jackass!” Pete yelled before Patrick had the door slammed shut.  
  
Patrick turned around, breathing heavily. “Then….then what the hell?” He was confused in the moment-confused as to why he was here, arguing with Pete, confused as to why he hadn’t gone to the Ball. Patrick was confused about a lot of things except for one thing. “I think…I might like…love you…” Patrick was close to tears with frustration.  
  
Sitting up, Pete’s eyebrows rose and he looked disgruntled. “What? You…what?”  
  
“Never mind. Just…fuck.” Patrick’s fists clenched as he ran down the stairs, almost tripping over one of the cords to the Christmas lights on the railing.  
  
“Patrick!” Pete chased him, catching him by the shoulder. Patrick swung a fist and connected to Pete’s collar bone as Pete crushed his lips to Patrick’s with a groan of pain. Pete’s hands scrambled at Patrick’s chest as his breath came out shallow. “Can’t…breathe.”  
  
“Shit! I’m sorry!” Patrick pulled away, holding Pete up by the shoulders. “I didn’t mean to!”  
  
Pete swatted Patrick’s hands away and put his palms on his knees, leaning over to gain his breath back. Once he was able to breathe properly, he looked up at Patrick, laughing in a wheeze. “We are so fucked up.”  
  
Patrick couldn’t help but grin in relief. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”


End file.
